The Baxley Books
by CeeCeeSings
Summary: Like The Chelsie Chapters, but Baxley! ;-) One-offs based on prompts from here and Tumblr, for this lovely 'ship. Have a prompt? Feel free to message me or leave in comments. Thanks all!


**Chapter 1 – A Little Supper**

 **A/N: Hi guys! RL has been super busy, so I've not gotten to write about this lovely pair for a minute. This is the first of stories based on prompts from Tumblr and here. I like the idea of writing this one right after finishing their "first kiss" fic last week.**

 **THE PROMPT**

 **This prompt came from an anon ask and olwenmays on Tumblr:**

 **"A Baxley fic showing our pair happily married, a simple romantic/domestic scene."**

Early September, 1927

It was a beautiful late-summer day.

She entered the outskirts of Downton Village, smiling and nodding to people as she passed them. Many of these folks were her neighbors now; she lived among them, rather than up at the great house where she still worked.

A small group of schoolchildren ran by, dressed in their finest for the first week of classes.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Molesley!" Two of the older girls called out, waving. She waved back, the sweet sound of her new surname sending a rush down her spine that only a newlywed can feel. She had been a wife for just under two months now, and sometimes couldn't quite believe it.

Her mistress teased her just today about it; Phyllis and quietly but firmly insisted on changing how she was addressed at Downton; if she had been the type of person to do so, she'd have shouted from the rooftops that she was Joseph Molesley's wife. For her, it was important for those she interacted with every day to acknowledge her husband.

"Molesley," Lady Cora had said not an hour ago, as Phyllis had helped her prepare for dinner. "Molesley, you know you're insistence on your new surname is quite charming. It gives me a glimpse into who you are. I've always known you were loyal; now I know you're a bit of a romantic."

The Countess had grinned at her as they caught each other's gaze in the vanity's mirror. Phyllis saw her cheeks go red, but was steadfast. The words were teasing, but the tone was kind.

"Yes, m'lady, I suppose I _am_ a bit of a romantic. It's not a terrible thing to discover about oneself; a nice surprise, I rather think it."

"Well, I'm certainly happy for the pair of you, Mr. and Mrs. Molesley both; and selfishly, I am glad you've not considered leaving us, at least not entirely," Lady Cora turned her head to examine the styling Phyllis had just completed.

Once she and Joe had married, Phyllis still worked at Downton every day, excepting Sundays, until dinnertime. She waited on both the Countess and Lady Mary, who needed very little in the ways of a traditional lady's maid, aside from her reliance on the care of her wardrobe, which Phyllis was happy to take with her in the evenings, working on mending and hemming and beading in the peaceful haven of the house she and Joe shared. In the evenings, the ladies were assisted by the more than competent head housemaid.

She made the final turn towards home, grinning at the row of small brick homes that made up their street, arriving, at last, at their place, the simple two-story where Joe and moved last year, once he'd started teaching.

She walked inside, hanging her light coat and hat on the rack in the entryway. She could hear the tinny sound of the Victrola floating down the hall from the study; her husband did so dearly love his music. She hurried along towards it, her heart full; she wasn't used to, nor did she every completely want to be, this feeling; of arriving, at last, where she belonged. Of the safety and surety of it. She wanted to be aware of it, each and every day.

 _Oh, Joe._

Her heart spilled over at the simple sight of him: glassed perched, nearly flying, off the end of his nose. His head bent over school papers, his pen landing here and there, like a bee to a flower, to make quick corrections, as needed. He reached out, grabbed a mug of tea, then took a quick sip. Rubbed his face with the palm of his hand.

She walked over and placed her hand on the top of his head, brushing the sparse hairs near his ear.

He looked up, removing his glasses. Smiled at her, boyish and pleased. Nothing could compare to the way he saw her; he was delighted by her, each and every day. She couldn't comprehend it, but never questioned it. It was like being reborn, being loved like this, loving like this.

"Hello, love," he finally said, and stood. He wrapped his arms around her waist, whirled her expertly, effortlessly, once around the small room, to the strains of the love song sounding from the record player in the corner. "How was your day?"

He leaned over and kissed her before she had the chance to reply.

"Just fine," she replied once they stopped for breath. "I've some repairs for her ladyship, but I can do those after supper, whilst you finish grading?"

"Sounds about right," he replied, ushering her to the other chair in the room. "There's vegetable soup, fresh bread, and cold ham from down the butcher's. Mrs. Swift stopped by and dropped off a pudding, which I thought was rather kind of her."

"It was," she replied, thinking of how Joe and the elder Mr. Molesley had gone to Mrs. Swift's house and cleared out her front garden, replanting and generally sprucing the spot up, at the beginning of summer. Joe didn't understand how much the kindnesses he put out into the world affected those around him. "It was very kind of her, as kind as _you_ are to everyone, Joseph."

She smiled across at him, and now it was her turn to lean over, kiss him, lingeringly, breathing in the now-familiar and much-loved scent of him.

Now, he took her right hand in both of his, and began gently pressing the palm, rubbing at the knots and strains her work imbued them with. Not long after they'd gotten engaged, in the very early hours of New Year's Day, he'd caught her stretching and rubbing her fingers after a long day sewing. She so valued what her hands could create, mend, fix, that she always paid attention to them.

And, just as that first time he'd taken her hand in both of his, and ever-so-gently, massaged the long day and hard work from them, she was struck by the simple sensuality, practicality and love that went into such a small gesture.

It had been so difficult for her, at first, to succumb to being cared for; the idea put her into a panic, sent her freefalling. She wasn't sure, entirely, where and when she would land.

 _You landed_ here _, Phyllis, in this cozy little home, with the Victrola playing and dinner simmering in the kitchen, with this kind, generous, hardworking man, who looks at you as if you are something beautiful and new and perfect, every day. No; who looks at you like the imperfect person you are, with all the love he has to offer, perfection be damned._

He finished on her left hand, then looked up at her.

"Supper, then?" He stood, and so did she.

"Yes, supper please," she replied, smiling back at him, brushing her tingling, soothed hand across his cheek. "What else?"


End file.
